


I'm still tongue-tied, sunflower

by phacochere_9



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Album: Fine Line (Harry Styles), Album: Walls (Louis Tomlinson), Angst and Porn, Bisexual Harry Styles, Body Dysmorphia, Bottom Harry Styles, But sometimes that's not enough, Canon Compliant, Cheating, Closeted Character, Closeted Louis Tomlinson, Dom Louis Tomlinson/Sub Harry Styles, Drug Use, Gender Dysphoria, Genderfluid Harry Styles, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, Harry and Louis care about each other very much, Hurt No Comfort, I can't tell if this is good or not, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, It's mostly feelingsss, Lack of Communication, Light Dom/sub, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, Louis cheats on Eleanor with Harry, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Smut, POV Alternating, Porn with Feelings, Power Play, Protective Louis Tomlinson, Sensitive Harry Styles, Smut, Stream-of-consciousness kinda story, Theres' not actually as much porn as the tags would suggest, Top Louis Tomlinson, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unsafe Sex, Using sex to cope, Vulnerable Harry Styles, a bit of, hints at - Freeform, kind of, so much pining, the other relationships are barely even there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28010517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phacochere_9/pseuds/phacochere_9
Summary: "You should stay.""I should go."Set right before the Fine Line Era: Harry and Louis coming together, coming undone, and coming period.OR: A story about miscommunication, longing and silence with a small side of lust.
Relationships: Camille Rowe/Harry Styles, Eleanor Calder/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s), Xander Ritz/Harry Styles
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	I'm still tongue-tied, sunflower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So I wrote this instead of updating my other fanfic. So sorry but this was just in my brain and I had to let it out...  
> This is a rollercoaster of emotions so get ready for a ride!  
> Also this contains implied unprotected sex in a non-monogamous relationship- just wanted to remind you never to do that in your real life! This is just fantasy :)
> 
> Now enjoy!

**Harry's POV**

What hurt the most was the silence.

Harry was used to arguments- was good at them too, with his big booming voice that echoed against the walls; was good at saying things he didn’t mean and fucking everything up in only a few words.

Harry knew arguments, could manage that kind of hurt.

What he couldn’t manage, however, was the silence. The silence fucked him up in ways nothing else ever could, and he would take bitter words, or hell, even a punch in the face over it anytime of the day.

The thing is, when they were still in the band, it would be awkward and uncomfortable, and seeing Louis’ face was like a punch in the gut every fucking time, and every uncomfortable silence cut like a knife straight to his heart, but at least he knew Louis was alive, knew where Louis was, what he was doing, what he was wearing, what he was eating.

Now he knew nothing.

So Harry _hurt_. All over. But most specifically in his chest, where the butterflies used to be. They’d been ripped out of there and now there was nothing- only a numb ache that could be forgotten and overlooked, but that never really went away.

That was partly why Harry started with the mushrooms. Well, it was _mostly_ that, really. He took them because they were fun, of course, because the others were doing it and he wanted in, but mostly they made him forget about blue eyes and transformed him back into a version of himself he knew he would never get back: for a few hours he could be the optimistic, naive young boy that had stepped onto that X Factor stage with no idea what was waiting for him again. He didn’t know anything back then, he was open and unguarded, wore his heart on his sleeve- like a goddamn fool. But damn, did he want that foolishness back, and his innocence, and his unwavering optimism with it.

He almost rolled his eyes at himself, because he always did that; always got nostalgic and emotional over times that were over, definitively gone. He knew he was romanticizing this era of his life, really, he did; he knew it hadn’t been quite as perfect as his brain was trying to convince him it was now, knew they’d all been awkward as hell and scared and completely out of their depths. Still, the X Factor days had changed everything, and nothing would ever be the same, after that. Everything became more complicated, faster, scarier. More beautiful too, more intense- and as much as Harry liked to reminisce and whine about the good old days, he knew if he could go back, knowing everything he knew now, he would still get up on that stage and do it all over again. Because despite the heartbreak and all the hardships, One Direction was his life, music was his life, Louis was (had been? it hurt him to even think the words) his life, and damn him if he was going to pass up on that for fear of suffering. But he had had to change to survive- they all had. They’d had to embody a whole lot of things they didn’t know how to, and a whole lot of things they didn’t want to, they’d had to talk about girls, girls, girls, and sing lyrics other people had written for them- and as their band, crowds and bank accounts grew and grew, they’d all became strangers to their school friends, families and sometimes, on the really bad nights, themselves.

So they’d hanged onto one another instead, and it was good, for a while. They were best friends, and they were having fun, traveling the whole world when they should have been in school, doing things they’d have never dared to dream of- they couldn’t complain.

Harry and Louis had hanged onto each other that little bit harder. Louis had become protective of Harry very fast- Harry was the youngest, most emotional, and Louis was always a big brother at heart, even when he was away from his family. Sometimes he would complain that he wasn’t a baby but secretly Harry reveled in the small, thoughtless gestures that Louis made, like guiding him through a crowd with a hand on his lower back. He could still feel the ghost of the warmth that created in his chest if he tried hard enough.

Then it became quite obvious that their relationship couldn’t exactly be described as brothership anymore, as small touches turned into shy kisses, into make out sessions hidden away in dark corners and quick handjobs in bathroom cubicles. They lost their virginity together in a closet of some venue they were performing at and it was ridiculous, really, it was cramped and too dark and they fumbled and had to stop because they didn’t have any lube and it hurt. They got out of there all flushed and giggly. Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.

Harry shook his head and took one last drag of his cigarette (another bad habit small, X-Factor Harry would have frowned at) before dropping it on the ground, stepping on it and going back into the studio. He didn’t know what was with him and being so damn nostalgic these days, but he needed to stop. He had a second album to make and he had to remind himself almost every day that it was awesome, that he was incredibly lucky, and that there were thousands of wonderful people who loved and were rooting for him, which he would never take for granted.

If the one person he wanted love from couldn’t give it to him, well that was unfortunate, but Harry wouldn’t waste his time being sad about it, he _wouldn’t_. Louis had a fucking baby, for god’s sake. He couldn’t continue to mope and cry over a man with a freaking _child_. It was ridiculous and, at this point, verging on pathetic.

Harry didn’t exactly remember how they’d ended up at this club, or where his shirt had gone. All he knew was that “Toxic” was playing and that he felt on top of the world. His high was making the colors around him just that bit brighter, angles softened as the faces around him blurred into each other. He closed his eyes and gave his body up to the beat, enjoying the low thrum of the bass in his chest, letting strangers press into him and touch his chest, his ass, run their fingers through his hair. It felt nice, the attention- warm. His brain had slowed down finally, and Harry was reduced to the music going through him and the touches of his skin against other people’s, and that was good.

A hazy trip to the bar and he found himself dancing with some dark-haired guy, who splayed his big hands over his hips as Harry grinded back into his crotch. Another trip to the bar and he was stumbling to the bathroom behind the same guy. A whole lot of sweat and whines and gasps later, Harry stumbled out of the stall with a breathless laugh and just barely managed not to land on his face. The guy was gone before he even had the time to shimmy back into his skinny jeans but he barely noticed, staring at the dirty bathroom mirror instead, squinting at himself, watching. He studied his sweat-coated tan skin, his blown up, almost black eyes surrounded by a small circle of forest green, his bared chest. He distantly felt something in his chest flicker through his thoughtless, floaty bliss, and frowned. As distant as it was, the feeling was distinctively _not good_ , and he didn’t have time for that now; no, tonight was all about empty heads and pretty bodies. He shook his head, willing this sudden gloom away and his previous mindless joy to take its place. _I need a drink_ , he thought, before wobbling out of the bathroom and back into the crowded club.

He woke up to a pounding head and an empty bed, thank god- he avoided bringing one night stands back at his place as much as he could, because you never knew who would leak the address or gritty details on Twitter. He reached blindly for his phone and groaned as its light attacked his eyes. 1 pm, it seemed to mock him, and he sighed. He needed to get going if he wanted to do anything with his day. He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, eyeing the array of colorful fruits at the bottom of it. Surely a smoothie would lift up his spirits.

As he drank his smoothie on the balcony (it didn’t have the desired effect), his legs dangling through the metal bars, he opened twitter for something to do, checking up on what the fans were up to. After ten minutes of scrolling, he’d determined that _not much_ was the answer to that question. One girl’s tweet made him smile though: she’d linked a video of one of his speeches about sexuality at a concert and was thanking him profusely and being all around really sweet. His finger hovered over the like button, knowing he was rarely active and the fans would make a huge deal of it. He smiled a little as he realized he didn’t care if they did, having found so much confidence on his last tour that he was practically _out_ now, at least to anyone that cared to notice… And that was such a great feeling, even if he’d never actually been _in the closet_ per say, he’d never been quite as bold and confident in his sexuality either. It was good.

Just as he was about to throw caution to the wind and like the tweet, his eye caught on the girl’s @ and he stopped his movement. _salt_vinegar_ _12_ , it read Further investigation showed Harry that her profile picture was… yup, that was definitely Louis and him. _Fuck._ He swallowed and forcefully scrolled down with a bit more force than necessary. _Fuck you_ , he told Louis in his head, because truly, fuck him and his requests that he stop encouraging people to “believe” in Larry Stylinson… Like it was a religion, or something. He hated that their relationship, his love life, was considered a conspiracy theory, something controversial, a subject of debate. It made him sick to his stomach, but not in the same way that it made _Louis_ sick. He should be used to it by now, he knew, but the truth was that having to pretend Louis and him were never a thing was still the most painful thing he’d ever had to do. He remembered the day it all crashed down on him all too vividly, would always have this dreadful afternoon burnt into his brain: the too luxurious reunion room, Simon’s cold eyes and Louis’ colder words.

“It’s not true”, he’d said.

“But the fans are convinced...”

“It’s all bullshit.”

Harry had said nothing as his insides cracked and crumbled, could only watch in confusion as Louis went on:

“There is no Larry Stylinson. I’m straight.”

Simon had looked relieved and they were sent on their way with the promise of a further meeting to plan the denial. Louis didn’t look at him once as they were driven back to the tour bus, and 16-year-old Harry couldn’t process what had just happened so he just accepted Louis’ hug when the boy finally deigned to acknowledge him again an hour later. Today’s Harry understood, though. He knew that Louis was afraid, still was, and didn’t want to risk his career and reputation for a little fling with his band mate that wouldn’t last anyways. Harry thought bitterly that if Louis tried to hug him today, he’d tell him to go fuck himself. Except Harry also knew that he was lying to himself. Because he would accept the hug, as well as anything else Louis was ready to give him, without a second thought. He was always defenseless against those bright blue eyes, and it was just that much unfair that Louis never did seem to be defenseless against _him_. He’d always been the one that kept his composure, rarely showing vulnerability, had been the one to hug him when he cried, to calm him down when he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Even when they had sex, Louis was the one to call the shots and make the rules. It was how they worked and it was good, really, it was great; in a world where he was always expected to have his shit together and be level-headed, knows-what-he’s-doing-Harry Styles, it was a huge relief to just be able to take his guard down and let himself be taken care of once in a while. Except he always ended up being the one begging, crying, making a fool of himself, was always the first to spill his guts right into the open air as soon as he was a little bit tipsy or horny, or just sad. Meanwhile, Louis managed to stay calm and collected majority of the time, which was absolutely infuriating.

There was a time when Louis was softer, less guarded, more delicate- but it felt like an eternity ago that Harry had had to watch that Louis slip away and disappear into thin air. Now the only way he could ever get inside the older man’s head was by reading the lyrics he wrote.

Harry blinked and sipped on his smoothie, blocking out the memories trying to invade his brain, suddenly really badly craving a high. He closed the app and called Mitch.

He received the text in the middle of a writing session and his heart immediately started plummeting inside his ribcage. He had to double then triple-check, but- yeah, that was Louis’ name, Louis’ photo. He canceled out what the other people around the table were saying and just stared at the name on his screen. He tugged on his collar, a nervous sweat suddenly clinging to his skin. His finger was shaking when he brought it to his screen to open the text and froze.

“ _What do you want?”_ was all it was saying. He frowned. What the fuck was he talking about? He frowned again as he saw a string of other texts right over this one, all in blue. But he hadn’t texted Louis in ages, and he was also pretty sure he’d deleted their whole conversation in a fit of rage a few months ago.

As he reluctantly scrolled to the top and started reading the messages he felt a cold feeling of dread overtake his whole body. The first message had been sent from his phone that very night at 4am, and it read _“why r u nott here:(((”_. Harry grind his teeth together as he realized he’d drunk… well, high-texted Louis while out the night before. He’d been pretty out of it but he hadn’t realized he had been so gone that he would text Louis a bunch of nonsense and have absolutely no recollection of it, which is something he just _didn’t do_ , and oh god, Harry was gonna die of shame. He dreadfully forced himself to read the next message, that was just a very eloquent _“need u”._ His chest hurt at the painful truth held in those two words. It seemed that Harry had then lost the ability to text at all because the next and last text only read _“qkskkkk”._ He felt a blush rise up high on his cheeks and spread all the way down his chest as the pressing urge to crawl into a hole and disappear forever took over him.

“You okay, Harry?”

He blinked up at one of the songwriters he was working with and cleared his throat.

“Yeah”, he said, his voice hoarse, eyes a bit wet in humiliation. He cleared his throat again and put his phone back in his pocket, feigning interest in the conversation again. He wasn’t ready to accept this had happened at all, let alone talk about it with anyone else.

Needless to say nothing productive came out of that writing session.

The evening found Harry sat on the floor of his bedroom, his back to the bed frame, his eyes locked to his phone. He’d denied a night out with the band and there’d been raised eyebrows but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His head wasn’t in that headspace and he was still way too embarrassed about what he’d done the night before to do it again anyways. He stared at his screen. _What do you want?_ He wanted lots of things from Louis, but he sure wasn’t going to share any of them with him.

“ _I’m sorry”_ seemed like a good place to start, but his fingers faltered on his keyboard after that. _“I was drunk”_ , he added simply after a moment, because even if he’d been more high than drunk, it was the closest he could get to the truth without sharing something he wasn’t ready to. He had the vague notion that it was a bit pathetic, how he still strove for Louis’ approval after all those years, how the idea of disappointing him still sent jolts of pain in his chest, but he wasn’t too worried about that as he tried to salvage what was left of his dignity. He didn’t have a lot of hope for that, though. The “read” mention appeared a few minutes later and he waited and waited for the three little dots to appear, clutching his phone in sweaty fingers. He’d never been the most patient person in the world though, so he quickly grew agitated and started typing again in panic. _“Are you doing okay?”_ is all he was able to come up with and he cringed at the bad attempt at normality, but felt his chest swell up with irrational hope all the same: maybe they could talk, maybe they could be friends now that the ice had been broken- even if the ice breaking was Harry making a fool out of himself. The three dots never appeared, though, and after a few minutes he locked his phone and sighed. _Maybe not._

His phone lit up with a notification fifteen minutes later and if anyone asked, Harry would deny the way he dived for his phone like a drowning man reaching for a life buoy. But, well. This was Louis.

“ _I’m good, busy with Freddie and new music. You?”_

And just like that, it was now Harry’s turn to leave Louis on read, because he just couldn’t bring himself to continue a casual conversation when Louis had brought up his _child_. His child with _someone else_. His chest ached even just reading the name, and none of this was little Freddie’s fault, of course, but it _hurt_. It hurt that there was a tiny Louis, with his DNA and his blood and his eyes, existing into the world and running around and Harry wasn’t the one raising him. In fact he hadn’t even met the kid. Not that he didn’t want to; he would throw his whole dignity out the window and come running if he was ever given the opportunity. It would hurt like hell but this was _Louis’ kid_ and so Harry already loved him, and that was that.

Somewhere very deep into the part of his brain Harry didn’t really like to linger in, there was a blurry, messy, bitter ache that Harry wasn’t _her._ That he couldn’t get pregnant with Louis’s kid, couldn’t carry and deliver a biological kid for him, and maybe that was why he wasn’t good enough to make him stay. (Not that they couldn’t have had kids of their own, if they’d only tried- Harry had done his fair share of daydreaming about adopting a whole army of kids with Louis.) In that painful part of his mind sat the devastating knowledge that _if you’d been born a girl you would still be with him._ That thought ran so deep and it hurt so bad, and he used to stare at his body and scowl at it, resenting the broad shoulders, sharp lines, the noticeable outline of his crotch and why couldn’t he be softer, smaller, _her_? He didn’t do it as much anymore but the hurt hadn’t faded, it was always lingering somewhere in the back of his mind and he knew he’d never get back the small part of himself that he’d fucked up and stained by being so _furious_ with himself for not being her. All the time uselessly spent mentally ripping his body apart and molding it differently so Louis would find it acceptable to be with him? It was gone forever, and he would never get it back.

Harry read Louis’ text again and sighed. He was so angry at Louis, and yet he could still understand. Two former boybanders being together, now _that_ was new and unheard of. The media would have ate that shit up, and even if it didn’t matter one bit to Harry, he knew it did to Louis. He’d tried to tell him countless times, _Louis, people will still love you, it’ll just make noise for a little while and then they’ll calm down_ , and _they’ll love us more, even, I swear, have you seen all that Larry shit?_ and then, from between his teeth, _everyone already knows anyways._ He’d regretted that one as soon as it was out of his mouth, even if it was true. Because Louis… Louis wasn’t like Harry, he was... defensive. Scared, really. Hated ever looking too “effeminate”, too weak, too _gay,_ though he never said it because he must have known, somewhere, that it wasn’t right. But it was written in his eyes clear as day, black on white, for everyone who knew him to see. Harry had always sensed a fanthom hurt, there. Surely Louis hadn’t built all these fences and walls alone? He was pretty sure no one was this critical of themselves, that… that _smothering_ of their own personality and desires, without someone else planting the idea inside their head first. Maybe it was something deeper crawling under Louis’ skin, telling him he couldn’t be anything other than straight, couldn’t ever be vulnerable, couldn’t ever explore and question. Louis had never told him though, no matter how much Harry nagged him about it, and he’d given up eventually. Maybe he shouldn’t have had.

It was too late now anyways.

He didn’t mean to do it. He really didn’t.

He’d told himself he would be strong, would never give himself up that easily again, never forgive as quickly as he had before; and yet Louis was coming over and Harry was not sending any text to cancel. He just sat nervously on his couch, his knee restlessly bouncing, checking his phone every twenty seconds, desperate to just see him and get to hear his voice and see his eyes and feel his touch. He knew he should be ashamed but he wasn’t, not really, not when the butterflies were back in his stomach and he felt a little less empty, _finally_. A dangerous little voice in his head was chanting about how maybe they would work things out: maybe Louis would leave Eleanor and come running back into his arms, maybe they could still have their happy ending. He tried to muffle that voice as much as he could because he knew this wasn’t why Louis was coming over. He was coming for sex and that was perfectly fine with Harry, he wanted that, _needed_ that, and he would give him just that. It wasn’t a regular thing by any means but that exact scenario had happened a few times over the years: one of them would text the other and they would meet up, always at Harry’s place never Louis’. Louis would fuck him and then he would leave. It was the best and the worst thing all at once, and every time Harry ended up crying and swearing to himself that he would never do it to himself again… Only to end up giving in within seconds the next time.

He also knew that Louis couldn’t just dump Eleanor like that. Harry often saw people hating on her on social media, but he knew she wasn’t responsible for any of the things that had happened between them. She was in love with Louis just like he ~~was~~ had been, and who was Harry to blame her for that? As much as he had hurt him, Louis was still an incredibly bright and kind person that made everyone around him fall like flies. Eleanor and himself never actually stood a chance in the face of that. He had felt very guilty, in the beginning, that Louis was cheating on her with him- he still did, sometimes. But he tried to tell himself that this was Louis’ own mess, Louis’ decision. It was Louis playing with both Eleanor’s and Harry’s feelings, at the end of the day, and Harry tried not to beat himself up over that. He wondered why Louis felt the need to come to him sometimes. Did Eleanor not give him what he wanted in bed? Did he miss how pliant Harry could get, how he was up for positively anything under the sun? Did Louis just like to check he still had power over Harry before he went back to his perfect little normal life?

Louis arrived fifteen minutes late just like Harry knew he would. Seeing him on his doorstep, in the flesh and close enough to touch, for the first time in at least a year, felt a bit like an out of body experience and he had to take a few moments to find his bearings and his ability to breathe again. Louis was wearing skinny jeans that made Harry’s mouth water, a black t-shirt underneath a black blazer, and black and white Vans. His hair was styled up in a quiff and he hadn’t shaved, thanks heavens- Harry had always been a fan of Louis’ facial hair, especially when it was being rubbed against his thighs. Harry fought the urge to drop to his knees for him right there on his doorstep. He wanted to roll his eyes at himself, at how easy he still was for Louis, in a way he’d never been for anybody else. He inhaled deeply and forced a smile onto his face- it was wobbly and unsure, but genuine, because Louis was there and his presence was still just as intoxicating and comfortable and warm as it ever was. Louis smiled back and entered the house when Harry opened the door wider for him. Harry’s heart threatened to beat out of his body. This was happening.

Harry wasn’t expecting it but didn’t find it in him to complain when Louis suddenly bent him over his kitchen table in lieu of answering his question about how he wanted his tea (milk, no sugar, he knew, but he thought he should be polite and ask). Harry wasn’t thirsty anyways; or, he was, but not for tea, and he bit his lip hard when Louis stepped up behind him and he felt his clothed length press against his ass.

“Hello”, Louis breathed in his ear, pressing his whole body against Harry’s and Harry sighed as he let himself melt underneath the other man.

“Hi”, he breathed back, his voice already embarrassingly gravelly. Louis was the only one who could unravel him so fast, knew exactly how to push all of his buttons and it was infuriating.

Louis stood back up and took a step back, taking all contact away and _fuck_ Harry was so gone already, that he had to bite his lip to stop a whine from escaping his mouth. He exhaled shakily instead and pressed his forehead to the wood of the table.

“Stop smirking”, he muttered, because he didn’t need to see Louis to know he was, and he received a playful slap to his ass in response that made him gasp and scramble for purchase on the table, grabbing the side of it until his knuckles whitened.

“Miss me?”

Harry’s body suddenly tensed up and he gritted his teeth against the barrage of thoughts that instantly flooded his brain, a clutter of _yes, you fucking asshole_ _you saw the texts_ _of course I miss you_ _,_ and _no, I hate you so much_ and _fuck me please fuck me_.

Louis’ hand came to rest on the middle of his back and it was gentle, so gentle that Harry couldn’t actually be mad anymore and _fuck you fuck you fuck you_ , for not giving Harry any reason to yell and kick and throw him out.

Louis’ thumb started rubbing his shirt clad skin back and forth and Harry hated how he instantly relaxed against the table.

“Didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. Shh, baby...” and he wanted to cry because he’d missed that warm, high pitched, raspy voice in his ear so _fucking muc_ _h_ , missed being Louis’ baby, but _ouch_. He already knew this was gonna hurt, was gonna hurt a lot, knew he would regret the next day when Louis would be gone but he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it now. He wanted this, _needed_ this, and damn it, he would let himself have it.

Louis started doing small rocking motions against him and Harry swallowed back a slutty moan, pressing his face harder into to the table and praying for strength.

“What do you want?”

A small spark of indignation lit up inside Harry’s chest that Louis had the nerve to try and make him ask for it too, when he was already bent over his own kitchen table for him despite promising himself he wouldn’t do that again. But then Louis grind his hips into Harry’s ass with more force and Harry chocked on his breath and forgot what he was even angry about. “Mh?”, Louis continued, spreading his hand over one clothed ass cheek, “Want this? Want me to fuck you right here, bent over your kitchen table like a little slut?”

Harry couldn’t help the moan that was punched out of him at that, and then the whine when Louis took a step back again and stopped touching him altogether. His breathing was labored, he was hard as a rock against the table and they were both still fully clothed. He flushed a deep red at that thought but whined again anyways, pushing his ass out, trying to get something, anything, why did Louis stop touching?

He only gained another swat at his ass again, “Uh oh. Don’t be needy. You take what I give you, remember? Now tell me what you want.”

Harry knew that tone very well, the firmness of it making him lightheaded as he spread his legs wider, on instinct, and he couldn’t bother being embarrassed anymore as his eyes filled up with tears and he started babbling, _anything, Lou please, please touch me, please, anything, need you, need you_ , and Louis was back in an instant, pressing against him again. His hand found Harry’s hair and massaged his curls slowly. Harry sagged against the table.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” His tone wasn’t teasing anymore as much as it was just genuinely asking, and Harry appreciated that Louis still _asked_ , okay. This was far from ideal, all of this was fucked up and they were both hurt but at least that much hadn’t changed. Louis was still Louis in the end, and Harry knew he was safe with him. He nodded.

“Okay, love.” Louis’ voice was breathy and the fingers that were still in his curls tugged a little, teasing, getting back into play, and Harry moaned.

“Then beg for it.”

Harry did end up begging for him in the end, because he always did. That should surprise no one. Him ending up with Louis’ cum running down his thighs as he awkwardly waddled to the bathroom was also to be expected. The only surprise there was his relative lack of regret for making himself so vulnerable to someone that repeatedly left him and ultimately didn’t want him; now that was new. Harry supposed he’d used up the last of his shame, and beating himself up over something he now knew would never change was getting old. He was in love with Louis; it was what it was. (Ha!) But it didn’t have to mean that he couldn’t love and be happy with other people, he tried to reassure himself. He’d dated other people, been in love with other people. Okay, so maybe Xander was just to piss Louis off- but they’d had fun. It was good. Then there’d been Camille, and Louis had had nothing to do with that relationship, and it was amazing. Until it wasn’t, and Harry was alone again, and if there was something Harry didn’t do well with, it was loneliness.

He shook his head and took a look at himself in the bathroom mirror. It was no use thinking about all this when Louis was right behind the door. He could worry about being lonely when he didn’t have such lovely company waiting on him to get out the bathroom so they could get started on round two.

Harry wakes up before Louis does the next day- of course he does. It’s not often that Louis stays the night, but it’d been late and they’d had a couple glasses of wine so Harry hid his car keys (if you could call “placing them somewhere too high for Louis to see” that. Really, it was just sitting in an open cabinet the whole time). Louis had scowled at him, but then he also fell asleep like, two minutes later, so Harry thinks he’s in the clear. When he finally blinks his eyes open, it’s to a handful of Louis’ hair obscuring his vision, and he can’t help but to smile while he backs away from where he was plastered to Louis’ side. The light coming from the huge window is warm, almost yellow, and it catches on little specks of dust before hitting Louis’ face, making his lashes look impossibly long and painting his skin golden. The sight makes Harry’s heart squeeze in his chest. Not for the first time, he thinks he might get blinded if he looks at the man for too long. He’s always been the bright, loud, fast one, and Harry could never keep up. Now he wished he could bask in that light and that warmth again, and he wished Louis didn’t have to be unconscious for that to happen.

“ _You’re scared of me”, he’d once said. He thought his attempt at a steady, no-bullshit voice would be a little bit more successful if his face wasn’t so red and swollen from crying. He would stand his ground anyways. Louis just scoffed disbelievingly, and Harry rolled his eyes._

“ _Love, don’t take it wrong but I think no one in the world is frightened by you.”_

“ _You are, though.” His voice sounded petulant and it infuriated him because_ he _was not the child in this conversation, thank you very much._

“ _I’m really not.” Well. They could keep going like that for a long time, if he let them, both of them way too stubborn to back down. Harry changed tactics._

“ _You don’t think you’re scared of me, but you are scared. I see it in your eyes anytime I say something about pride or I wear something flowery or I paint my nails, you’re terrified.”_

“ _I’m not_ scared _of that, Harry!” He sounded angry now. “I_ want _you to do those things. I always have.”_

“ _But you hate that you’re associated with it.”_

“ _No, Haz-”_

“ _You hate that you’re associated with_ me _.”_

“ _NO!” Harry lost his train of thought and just looked at Louis with wide eyes. It was not often that he could really get under Louis’ skin in this way. Louis preferred to bite with quiet, devastating sarcasm. He didn’t usually do furious shouting._

“ _You need to stop this. I’m happy you are yourself, I’m happy you feel comfortable. Okay? Don’t try and make it seem like I have a problem with that. I don’t.”_

“ _You have a problem with it when it’s in yourself though.”_

“ _Harry, don’t fucking start. I’m tired. We’ve had a big show, big week. I’m going to bed, and you’re going to yours, and we don’t need to continue arguing over something that’s not relevant anymore. K?”_

_That hurt. It was very relevant to Harry, and it would always be. But he knew he wasn’t going to win this argument. He should just agree and move on, he knew, maybe try again when they weren’t both drenched in sweat and swaying on their feet from exhaustion. All the same, he made a point of stomping his feet and slamming the dressing room door behind him, just so he didn’t feel so defeated._

“You should stay.”

The words were hidden into Louis’ skin, tucked in between his neck and shoulder, Harry’s curls tickling his jaw. Muffled enough that Louis could easily pretend he never heard them, if he wished. Silence stretched, Harry listening to both their breathing and his own heart thumping against his rib cage, the only sounds in the room, so loud in the charged moment.

“I should go”, Louis murmured. A few more beats of silence, then, strangled: “Yeah”. Harry nodded to emphasize but didn’t lift his head from Louis’ neck.

Louis’ arm tightened its grip around Harry’s waist.

“I should go”, he repeated into Harry’s hair. He took the other man’s face in both his hands and forced it up, tilting it just so. They breathed on each other for a moment, green meeting blue, blue meeting green. “I should...”, he mumbled on Harry’s lips, but never finished the thought, too busy pushing his tongue past Harry’s lips and his fingers through his curls. Harry surrendered immediately, gripping Louis’ forearms for dear life and breathing hard through his nose. Never stopping the kiss, Louis let his fingers roam from Harry’s head to the back of his neck, down his back, to his ass, squeezing once, then back up. Harry whined high in his throat and Louis chuckled.

“It’s crazy how much you haven’t changed.”

Harry looked up into shining eyes, pouting. “I’ve changed a lot.”

“Not in this area you haven’t.”

“Yes I have.”

Louis smiled and Harry had to blink not to be blinded. He could never believe how easy and fluid this all was, how seamlessly they fell back into each other, every single time. It was funny how Louis was the reason for Harry’s misery, yet he was also the only one able to make him forget about it all in a second, with a smile or a kiss, or a simple look. Just like that, the world was beautiful again, and the horizon was clear of clouds. It wasn’t fair, this power he possessed, but Harry let himself be held and kissed and pressed into the mattress with a giggle all the same. He felt sixteen again, and he wanted to bathe in that feeling for the rest of his life. This small moment of joy was theirs, and theirs only. Louis smiled at him, small, private, before diving down to nip at his throat. Harry grabbed at his hair and closed his eyes with a quiet gasp. A sun ray shone through the window, making black turn to gold behind Harry’s eyelids. He smiled.

An hour and two showers later, Harry was biting his tongue while he watched Louis put his shoes on. It seemed to happen in slow-motion, like a car accident in a movie that you see coming but can’t do anything to stop. He didn’t wanna be alone. He didn’t wanna wash the sheets and Louis with them. More than anything in the world, he just wanted Louis to _stay_. But he couldn’t let him know, and when his mouth filled with metallic red, he dislodged his teeth from his tongue and swallowed it with a wince. He tried for a very weak smile as Louis hovered at the door. Their eyes met one last time.

“Have a nice day, Louis.”

“You, too.” Louis’ eyes were soft and then he was gone.

It was fine.

Louis went back to his girlfriend, Harry went back to the studio. The songs seemed to just leak out of him at this point, he couldn’t stop it even if he’d tried. He noticed the worried glances the band would throw him when they thought he wasn’t looking. He supposed that was fair enough, given the renewed level of angst he brought to each session, bleeding into every lyric. He hadn’t told them the whole story, of course, but they were close enough to him that he was pretty sure they’d connected the dots. Not that those were complicated to connect to begin with; and he couldn’t say he was exactly being _subtle_ about it, either. But the music had to be honest, or he didn’t even want to make it at all. He owed that to the fans, of course, but he also owed it to himself, and he needed that release to continue on. He would never actually say the words, would never do that to Louis, but the music was the one thing he wasn’t willing to compromise on. Since he had no other place to put it, it was _all there_. All of his deepest most shameful feelings, his fear, his guilt, his love his longing his bitterness, it was right there in the melody arrangements and the production and in his voice and the lyrics, for anyone to hear. And that felt so good. He’d never felt so open.

It happened again.

And again.

And again, and then they couldn’t seem to stop, were back to square one, clinging to each other for dear life even when they knew they just _couldn’t_. It was spiraling out of control, but Harry didn’t panic once. It was so natural that it felt like they were falling back into place, rather than making a bunch of destructive mistakes. Maybe it could be both, depending on how you were looking at it. There was such a huge disconnect between his brain and heart, between logic and feelings; because every instinct, every emotion in his body was always pushing him towards Louis, and he never once wanted it to stop. The logical part of him, though, knew how reckless they were being, how careless with both their hearts, with Louis’ relationship, with their bodies. How could it be so wrong if it felt so right? Or did it only feel so right precisely because it was impossible, because it was so fragile and bound to break? Were they being horrible or just honest to themselves? Harry couldn’t tell. He woke up in the night soaked in sweat because of that question. Wrote pages upon pages in his journal about it. And yet there was still no answer.

He wondered if Louis was sleeping fine, and if he was having the same kind of dilemmas at all. Maybe it didn’t mean as much to him? (A part of him knew that wasn’t true, because of the way Louis sometimes looked at him like he held the whole universe in the palm of his hand. Another part of him argued back that if Louis had wanted him, he could have done something about it a long time ago. There was no fucking answer and Harry knew no peace.)

Maybe the sex was better, because they knew this time was borrowed. Harry thought this as Louis sucked love bites into his thigh, one hand pinning Harry’s right leg to the bed and the other jacking him off. Harry gasped and tugged on Louis’ hair with both hands, making him look up with a scowl. He couldn’t help but laugh a bit at that, his eyes raking Louis’ whole face, trying to burn the details into his brain forever. “Come here”, he breathed, and opened his lips against Louis’ when he got the message and came up to kiss him.

“Are you going to stay the night?”

Louis didn’t respond, and started to make his way back down Harry’s body, leaving a trail of bites and kisses in his wake. But when he went to get up to his knees again, Harry wrapped his legs around the other’s torso and squeezed as hard as he could, positively immobilizing him. He didn’t wait for the confusion in Louis’ facial expression to transform into words before he blurted out: “Stay the night.” His cheeks immediately started burning in embarrassment, but he didn’t break their eye contact. He meant it. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted Louis to stay. What would it take for him to stay? With how much they were fucking, Louis probably had a hotel room at his name nearby by now, no way he did all that road every time. And the idea of Louis renting a hotel room when there was a perfectly functional bed right _here_ was absolutely unacceptable. Harry just wanted some cuddles and for Louis to still be there when he woke up tomorrow. Was that so much to ask?

His plea was still resonating in the space between them. Maybe it _was_ too much to ask. It was desperate, and probably a bit pathetic. He opened his mouth to backtrack, but a finger came up to his mouth to shut him up. Harry blinked. In his eternal turmoil, he must have let his leg prison loose, because Louis was now hovering on top of him. His eyes were soft and he had a hesitant smile floating on his lips. Harry immediately relaxed. “Okay”. Louis dropped a kiss to his forehead and Harry had to blink back tears. He felt like he did when he was sixteen again, so proud of having an older boyfriend and dead certain that Louis would shield him from all the bad things in the world. “Thanks”, he said, and Louis squeezed his arms around him. It’d been a while since Harry had felt so completely safe. “Will you fuck me now?”

Louis chocked on a disbelieving laugh and then proceeded to laugh until he cried. Harry first tried to act offended, but he couldn’t help but join him after a while.

Fifteen minutes later found them staring at the bedroom’s ceiling with tear stains and huge goofy smiles all over their faces, labored breath and fingers intertwined. Harry felt like he’d shed half his weight, and he still felt just as safe and weightless when Louis finally calmed down enough to make justice of that earlier request of Harry’s.

He still felt like he was floating through the whole next day, even after Louis excused himself after breakfast and a shower. He was a bit sore, and every time he walked or sat down he felt a wave of calmness crash onto him as memories flooded his brain with good hormones.

The weightlessness wore down after a few days, but Harry still didn’t feel nearly as awful as he had when he first started going to the studio. The songs got lighter, hope and light shining through the turmoil. His favorite song was one that perfectly embodied the pure happiness, powerlessness, pain and frustration that Louis was able to bring into his life all at once. It wasn’t finished yet, but the words had jumped out of his throat and fingers like they just couldn’t be contained anymore.  
... _You sunshine you temptress…_

_...W_ _e’ll be alright..._

_  
_“Listen, Harry, I-”

“Please don’t try to justify yourself, I don’t even- don’t you know how much you’ve hurt me? And continue to, you just… You just go back to her, every time, and I’m… You act like you want me, you act like you _care_ , but then you leave. Why do you make everything so difficult? I just wanted you not to leave like a fucking thieve every time we fuck! I can’t continue this way, I just- don’t you know how fucking _horrible_ you’re being right now?!”

“Are you finished yet?!”

And Harry knew this was over, knew how defensive and aggressive Louis became when he felt attacked.

“I’m-”

“No, cause you can fuck all the way off, Harry. Truly. I’m leaving.”

And Louis was slamming the door before the first tear even had time to go all the way down Harry’s face.

Here they went again.

Fighting. Screaming. Crying. Making up. Fucking. Repeat.

And he still never got a straight ( _ah!_ ) answer from Louis. He was getting tired.

Then the tiredness grew into anger. Burning hot, righteous anger. How _dare_ Louis crawl back into his life, make him feel so good and alive, all to end up fucking it all up all over again? The anger grew and grew and grew and Harry stopped taking calls, stopped responding to texts. Louis not coming over anymore felt like he’d had a phantom limb ripped off, but it felt good to be the one calling the shots for once. He was in control. And he was pissed off. And sure, he was used to the intense and short-lived sparks of anger that he immediately regretted- but this… This was new. This wasn’t going away anytime soon. He was done. He was fucking _done_ being used for sex and then thrown away like it was nothing, he was _done_ with the mood swings and the uncertainty and the _silence_. Even when he was in bed with Louis, there was so much space taken by all the unsaid words, all the stifled memories and the repressed emotions. Even when they talked, there was so much _silence_ and it was still the silence that killed Harry inside. He’d been so naive to think that this time would be different, that Louis would open up somehow. Louis was extremely closed off at all times. And even if Harry adored and worshiped every little fragment of Louis he could get a glimpse at in the windows of time the other man let his guard down, it wasn’t enough anymore. He wanted a real person who communicated and spent time with him and who wasn’t afraid to hold his hand or kiss him. He wanted to be intimate with someone without any of the soul-shattering shame. And he wanted these things with Louis, so freaking bad, so bad it literally hurt, but. He didn’t know if that was an option. He didn’t think it was. He’d given Louis so many chances and opportunities that he never took, Harry thought the message was pretty clear. Louis didn’t want those same intimate, real things with Harry and that was _okay_.

It had to be, because there was no other choice.

_What do you mean?  
I'm sorry by the way  
Never coming back down_

He was thinking of Louis when he wrote those words. Wondering if he’d ever hear them. What he’d think of them. If he would call bluff, because he knew how hard it was for Harry _not_ to come back to Louis every. Single. Time.

But he meant it this time.

_Can't you see?  
I could, but wouldn't stay  
Wouldn't put it like that_

It was just a song, but he’d never felt so empowered in his life. He’d never felt so fearless and strong and so _fre_ _e._

_What do you mean?  
I'm sorry by the way  
Never coming around_   
_It'd be so sweet if things just stayed the same_

It was an infectious energy that coursed through the entire studio, electric and wild, spreading like wild fire. He could feel it coursing through his veins, a creative rush, his first high in a while that was fueled by neither drugs nor sex.

_All the lights couldn't put out the dark  
Running through my heart_ _  
__Lights up and they know who you are  
Know who you are  
_ _**Do you know who you are?** _

A jab. A plea. A genuine question. There was so much he didn’t know about Louis and his brain, sometimes he wondered if even _Louis_ knew what was going on. He wanted to be let inside so bad, but he would stop asking, now. He would stop begging for Louis’ crumbs. He was done.

_Shine, step into the light_   
_Shine, so bright sometimes_   
_I'm not ever going back..._

And when he wrote those final words, he wasn’t thinking about Louis at all.

He would never not love Louis, because it was just the way things were, but he had to live for himself now. He had to be himself, loud and proud and fearless. He wished they could be this way together, wished Louis could feel this rush of liberation as well. And maybe, one day, he would. Maybe he wasn’t ready just yet. But Harry was oh-so-ready for it all.

Free, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it goes! I would appreciate it a lot if you told me your impressions of this <3  
> Let me know if you're interested in seeing a second chapter in Louis' POV!:) Everyone have a great day/night


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